


i'm a dreamer (i was told that you were too)

by selenedaydreams



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: """Kid Fic""", ACF Fiorentina, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: Well, actually, there are two exceptions. He wants to be Baggio but he wants to stay.He doesn’t want to leave like Baggio did and he doesn’t want to be forced to leave like his father was. He wants his own different story.





	i'm a dreamer (i was told that you were too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brampersandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brampersandon/gifts).



> for caitlin; 
> 
> 1) i know that i made you wait for your birthday present for an extra two months so i sincerely hope that this was worth the wait. i poured a lot into this fic (for the record...originally, it was just supposed to be the second half but then i realized oops! can't talk about chiesa's past without talking about berna and that turned into oh. i REALLY need to talk about berna). this fic reminded me of just how much i enjoy writing so again, i hope it lives up to the suspense and expectations that i built up. thank you for motivating me and being gentle with me when my brain refused to cooperate and real life stress got in the way. you deserve it. 
> 
> 2) ha. HAHA. I GENUINELY AM SO SORRY BUT SORTA KINDA TRICKING YOU. BUT HEY, IT _IS _KID FIC. IT IS!__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _title from _you let me walk alone__ by michael schulte_  
> 

His earliest memories are of Fiorentina. 

Even though his father played for Parma when he was born, he was too young to remember any of it. Perhaps Fiorentina came too early too, not even five years old when relegation and financial trouble ultimately forced his father’s transfer to the capital - to Lazio. 

But he is adamant that his first memories are drenched in purple. He remembers with striking clarity sitting on his father’s lap in the roaring, electrifying stadium, swimming in a purple shirt far too big for his small frame that was more makeshift blanket than jersey. He remembers being carefully balanced on his father’s left leg - his injured leg - not that he understood any of that at the time. All he knew was that he wanted to play with the velcro straps of the brace at halftime, entirely undisturbed by the fact that if Fiorentina lost to Inter tonight, they would be creeping dangerously closer to the relegation zone. 

 

 

Lazio is a blur the doesn’t commit to memory. Siena is really, really good for his father. 

Federico is older now, smart enough to realize that at the dwindling end of his father’s career, he deserves to be somewhere that reminds him of his Parma and Fiorentina glory days. It’s good to remember what it’s like to be useful. 

His knee still acts up sometimes, seizing up while they’re passing the ball around in the backyard, putting him out of commission for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Federico knows what it means, he can read it loud and clear in the pained smile his father forces himself into showing him as to not worry him. 

“Alright, how about a break?” It’s a practiced routine and Federico plays his part in by nodding along and sitting down next to him on the warm grass. He lays down and rests his head on his father’s thigh, letting his hair be ruffled and messed up. 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, Federico pretending he doesn’t notice the way his father rubs his bad knee and silently winces. He’s been putting off telling him this, always falling back on the excuse that it’s not the right time. “I want to go to Fiorentina’s youth sector.”

He watches his father raise both eyebrows. Although, from what he can gather...he doesn’t actually look that surprised. “Is that so?”

“Coach Hamrin said he’d put in a good word for me. He said I’d be a good fit.”

His father laughs, loud and genuinely shocked this time. “Of course. Of course he said that. Why am I even surprised?”

“And...maybe you could put in a good word too.” Federico hates how shy he suddenly sounds. He absolutely hates the fact that when it comes to Fiorentina and his father, he finds himself walking on eggshells and second guessing himself constantly. 

“Federico…” Federico looks down automatically, bracing himself for the worst when he feels his father's fingers in his hair again, this time far gentler than before. “You don’t need a good word from either one of us. You can make it in on your own.”

 

 

He wants to be Baggio. 

Which...what aspiring forward _doesn’t_ dream of one day growing up and being half the skilled playmaker that he was? 

Well. That’s not entirely true. He wants to be Baggio but with one exception - he doesn’t want to save Fiorentina from relegation, he wants to lead them to victory. If not the Scudetto then at least the Coppa. 

Sometimes, late at night when he can’t sleep, too worn out from training and yet not worn out enough, he likes to sneak down into the living room. Lucky for him, his mother refuses to give up certain luxuries of the past, meaning that they still own a VCR. Years ago, he took the VHS of the 2001 Coppa Italia Final out of their cabinet to make sure that it would never accidentally be lost. Apparently, no one’s missed enough to notice that it’s missing.

With the volume turned down as low as possible, only the softest hum of the crowd filling the living room, he lays down on the soft carpet on his tummy and watches the grainy video that he has already memorized a long time ago. He knows exactly at what moment his father expertly flicks the ball to Nuno Gomes so he can fire it into the back of the net and score the winning goal against Parma. 

He wants that too. He wants to hoist that trophy in his hands in full view of their supporters and maybe most importantly, in full view of his father sitting up in the stands, beaming down at him with pride. Sometimes, he thinks that the best gift he could ever give his father is the opportunity to live vicariously through him.

Well, actually, there are two exceptions. He wants to be Baggio but he wants to stay. 

He doesn’t want to leave like Baggio did and he doesn’t want to be forced to leave like his father was. He wants his own different story. 

 

 

As it turns out, he gets into the Fiorentina’s youth sector just fine on his own. 

The training is more rigorous and intense than what he was used to. No longer playing at just the academy level, weeding out the kids that have no chance of making it professionally. And really, that’s most of them. Now, he’s training for a chance to eventually play with the first team. 

Considering that they’re a group of eight to twelve year olds, most everyone is friendly. Coaches don’t really have to worry about major injuries and anyone getting rougher than they should. 

Sure, there’s the occasional scuffle after a mistimed tackle but Federico stays out of it. Being as small as he is, he’s difficult to take down, slipping past everyone like a fish through water. That is until one day, someone trips him so hard that he ends up sprawled on the ground with the ball suddenly very far away from him. 

And the kid scores. The kid that knocked him down actually _scores_ from their spot halfway across the field before extending a hand down to help him up. By then, the coaching staff has already surrounded them, one of the younger men helping Federico to his feet and asking him if he’s alright while their coach all but yells at the other boy - Bernardeschi - Federico catches. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. Because weirdly, he’s not actually mad. Or rather, he’s never been tackled like that before - he’s never been tackled period. Even the kids notorious for doing it usually spared him, probably too scared that they would snap him in half. 

It’s...kind of nice not to be underestimated.

 

 

Bernardeschi, Berna for short, as they decided since they share a first name, is strange. 

He is really weird but not in a way that Federico necessarily hates. He’s older, three years his senior, but despite the age gap, they match each other in determination and desires. 

With the commute that Berna has to make to the youth sector, they don’t get to spend much time together outside of training and that’s fine. Federico isn’t sure what they could even bond over outside of football when football is the only thing they young brains care about at the current moment.

 

 

His love for literature and art manifests quickly after his mother gifts him a book on Italian painters for his tenth birthday. He reads it cover to cover and then cover to cover again. Memorizes the life stories of artists with his namesake. 

One day at training, he mentions to Berna that his name kind of sounds like one of the artists in his book - Brunelleschi. That’s the first time Federico makes him laugh. And much to his surprise, it seems as if Berna is genuinely interested in hearing about Brunelleschi’s life story. During their lunch break, he listens eagerly, hanging onto Federico’s every word. 

“So, he made buildings?” Berna asks around a mouthful of spaghetti. 

“Yeah.” Federico nods. “He made the Florence Cathedral.”

“I was kinda hoping he was one of the ones that painted naked ladies.” 

Federico kicks him under the table but it’s not unkind. He’s grown accustomed to these types of crude comments from Berna. “I think his buildings are prettier.” 

Berna smiles and shakes his head. “Of course you do.” 

 

 

For his thirteenth birthday, he asks his mother to enroll him in the International School of Florence because the dusty English books in their library aren’t cutting it anymore. The English lessons he’s getting at school even less so.

Almost all of his teammates think it’s thinks it’s strange. Why would you want to do even more school work? They tease him about the fact that he spends a good portion of their breaks doing his homework and needlessly struggling through classical books that have already been adequately translated into Italian. Federico doesn’t really care or mind, for that matter. No one is malicious and most importantly - their opinion really doesn’t matter.

 

 

Berna, on the other hand, thinks it’s really cool that he’s studying English. 

“It’s...good for you,” he tells him in broken and unsure English. They agreed to meet at the park today, Berna having just officially moved to Florence and needing some time outside his box filled apartment while Federico didn’t want to stay inside the oven currently known as his house. 

One liter bottle of water in hand, Federico decides that the best place to beat the heat is underneath one of the giant oak trees with his most recent acquisition - The Iliad. 

“You could always join me,” Federico offers and he means it sincerely even though he’s more than certain that Berna won’t take him up on his offer.

And almost as if on cue, Berna shakes is head and laughs before sitting down next to him. Their knees bump together, rough, calloused skin on rough, calloused skin. “I’m only interested in reading the filthy and raw things that they don’t teach you in school.” He turns to half whisper in his ear, sounding all the more eloquent and confident in Italian and reminding him once again of the age difference between them. That’s been happening a lot lately. 

Three years seems like a lot when you’re thirteen and sixteen. Sometimes, Federico catches himself wondering why Berna even bothers to hang out with a little kid like him when there’s plenty of older boys at the youth sector that he could probably have way more fun with. Go clubbing, stay out late, drink despite not being legally allowed to… 

Except that despite not being interested in formal education, Berna also doesn’t seem interested in being rebellious in any way that could affect his performance during training and matches. Federico relates to him in that way the most. 

“C’mon, you should practice. Read to me.” When Berna lays his head on his shoulder, grinning widely up at him, telling him that, Federico once again decides to stash away those inquiries and just lean into it. 

 

 

He’s just two months shy of his fourteenth birthday the first time he and Berna kiss. 

Well. Not exactly. 

They’re watching the senior squad train just days before the first match of the season. Their coach having said that it would be good for them, motivate them, give them some pointers into the right direction. And as per his request, Federico sits himself on one of the bottom most bleachers and watches them carefully. 

The late morning sun is unforgiving. Ignoring the sweat slowly dripping down his forehead is one thing but ignoring the red hot bleachers that scorch his thighs is almost impossible. Still, he persists despite the fact that many of his own teammates have stopped giving their undivided attention to the players on the field and are chit chatting quietly. Even their coach seem far more interested in the water he pulled out of the cooler than to make sure that they’re following his directions. 

It’s when he’s zeroed in on one of the younger players, Adem Ljajić, watching him effortlessly dribble the ball around an obstacle course, that he feels warm fingers wrap around his ankle. Really, he’s lucky that he didn’t fall backwards and crack his head open with the way his heart jumped straight out of his chest. He was dangerously close to an impromptu trip to the emergency room because of some asshole-

And then he looks down and his thoughts come to a grinding halt. Berna is looking up at him from between the bleachers, grin so wide and self-satisfied that Federico’s split second immediate reaction is to want to reach down and shove him to the ground in childish retaliation. He doesn’t. The angle is too awkward and honestly? It really isn’t worth doing much other than halfheartedly kicking at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Federico whisper shouts as Berna continues to grin and has the audacity to _laugh_ , “You scared me to death.”

Berna doesn’t seem to take him seriously because he just brushes off the reprimands and cocks his head in an inviting manner. “Come here.” When he looks skeptical, Berna persists. “C’mon. You’re not missing anything. We’ve done these drills a thousand times.”

It turns out that sneaking down and behind the bleachers is easier than he thinks. No one notices him, no one bats an eye, probably assuming that he’s heading into the training ground to use the bathroom. Despite his earlier apprehensions, it’s blissfully cooler in the shadows underneath the bleachers and now that he’s down here, he thinks that he’d like to stay for a little longer and cool off. Plus, if he gets closer to the spaces between the seats, he can still watch the senior squad practice penalty kicks. 

He finds Berna leaning back against one of the beams of support and it’s only then that he notices that there is a half smoked cigarette hanging between his lips. Federico scowls immediately. “You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s not good for you.”

Berna doesn’t seem bothered by his concern nor does he look surprised that those were the first words out of his mouth. That makes him even more annoyed which in turn, only emboldens Berna to take a long drag from the cigarette before pulling it out and thankfully, blowing the smoke away from both of them. 

Now...Federico would be lying if he said that there wasn’t something oddly mesmerizing about it. That he didn’t watch the entire sequence with far too much interest. Unfortunately for him, Berna notices and steps closer.

“Maybe it’s bad but it’s exciting.” He says, flipping the cigarette around and extending it towards him. “Try it.”

And for some reason that Federico doesn’t want to admit to, he leans closer and matches Berna’s actions, wrapping his lips around where Berna’s had been just moments prior. It tastes like death and the smoke feels like an assault on his lungs but at the same time, it’s also incredibly thrilling. 

“Don’t worry, I only took one out of the janitor’s pack when he wasn’t looking.” Berna offers an explanation that he wasn’t actually asked for, putting his worries at ease and making him feel more comfortable. “I don’t do this regularly. I just...wanted to see what it was like.”

That’s good. It’s their own dirty, little secret then. 

 

 

Beyond letting his mother cook for him and make a cake - a cake that his younger brother would undoubtedly be more excited for than him - he has no plans for his sixteenth birthday. That is until Berna calls. 

Federico slides his finger across the screen to answer the call and presses the phone to his ear. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Berna speaks, his voice booming through the speaker. “Birthday boy!” 

Alone in his bedroom with the door shut, there is no one that can see him but Federico still finds himself hiding his wide grin against the pillow. It’s only been a little over three months since Berna was loaned out to Crotone and relocated all the way across the country. To say that he misses him would be a terrible understatement.

Oh. He didn’t even realize until now that they wouldn’t be spending his birthday together like they do every year. “Technically not until Friday.” 

Berna laughs, loud and barking, causing a familiar warmth to bloom inside his chest. “Always so technical.” There’s a brief pause while Berna clears his throat and Federico thinks he hears him sit up. “About that. We’re playing Ternana on Saturday which means that I’ll be a looooot closer to Florence than normal.”

“Okay…” Federico’s sitting up too now. He might be in the middle of his bed but it feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff. Is...he saying what Federico thinks he’s saying? 

He is, isn’t he? Why else draw it out like that and build up the suspense? Why else torture him? 

“So,” God. Federico can practically see the smirk on his face. “Since we don’t play again until next weekend, I asked Mister if I could have a few days off. Guess you’re stuck with me for another birthday.”

 

 

He spends Friday, the 25th - his actual birthday - with his family. Lorenzo shoves himself next to him on the bench seat at the dining room table, looks at him with pleading eyes while their mother strikes a match and lights the candles. Last year he had fifteen individual candles, this year there are only two - the numbers one and the six in white wax with polka dot confetti accents. He could easily blow them out by himself but instead, he loosely wraps his arm around his brother, giving him an encouraging nod before they both lean in simultaneously and blow out the candles. 

 

 

He spends Saturday morning squished into the left corner of the couch, chin resting on his knees as he watches Crotone narrowly defeat Ternana with a stoppage time goal. Berna has a quiet night, almost scoring a sensational goal just before halftime but ultimately coming off early in the second half. 

His disappointment is palpable. Federico sees right through his attempts at hiding it. If he were there sitting next to him on the bench, he would remind him that it’s only October. There is plenty of time to score goals and rack up points. 

Sunday morning rolls around and it’s impossible for him to hide his excitement. He tries his best though. When his mother pushes a plate of sunny side up eggs and toast in front of him at breakfast and asks about his plans, he shrugs his shoulders as nonchalantly as possible and tells her that he and Berna will probably go out and see a movie and spend the night at his hotel room ordering copious amounts of room service. 

It’s not entirely a lie. It’s one possibility for what they could be doing but the reality is that he actually has no idea how the evening will unfold since Berna keeps dodging the question and telling him that it’s a surprise. 

He doesn’t make a habit of lying to his parents. As a matter of fact, he feels a little guilty about it considering that they’re both so comfortable with him spending the night in a hotel room with Berna since they’ve known him for so long. Apparently, he’s older and responsible. He’ll keep him safe.

Raiding through his closet, he tries to strike the perfect balance between looking nice and not too nice - not like he’s trying too hard. Knowing Berna, he’ll meet him in a pair of faded jeans and a black shirt. So, he leans in the opposite direction - white shirt and dark jeans, shrugging on a grey hoodie to ward off the cool autumn breeze. 

_Meet me outside Hotel Orto De Medici ;)_ , Berna had texted him earlier when he pressed him for the address, reminding him that his parents weren’t going to let him leave the house without knowing exactly where he would be. 

And that’s...a much nicer hotel than Federico had thought he would choose. It gives him a thrilling feeling that he can’t quite explain that stays with him until he steps off the metro into the bustling nightlife of Florence. It’s only six but restaurants are packed and bars are filled to the brim. As he rounds the corner to the Hotel Orto De Medici, he finds Berna leasuring on one of the benches outside looking exactly like how he had pictured him. 

He’s still the same Berna, Federico thinks, grinning from ear to ear as he runs towards him, rushing him into a tight embrace. He means to go for something casual like hi or how are you but _I missed you_ is what comes out of his mouth instead. 

“Happy birthday.” Berna holds him tight, lets him hide his face against the crook of his neck, entirely unbothered by his candid admission. “I missed you too.”

 

 

Apparently, Berna’s idea of a birthday surprise is to book one of the most expensive suites the hotel has to offer in order to watch a movie one of his new buddies at Crotone pirated for him. The juxtaposition is somehow quintessentially Berna. 

“What movie is it?” They’ve just settled in for the night, room service ordered moments ago - lobster linguini to share and tiramisu too, also to share. If Federico had to guess, he’d bet good money that Berna has a trick candle stashed somewhere in his duffle bag. 

“Kill Your Darlings.” Berna says without turning to look at him. Since the movie isn’t exactly something you can currently buy on DVD, in order to watch it on something other than Berna’s tiny Macbook, he needs to figure out some way to connect it to the television. Something that he is currently struggling with. Berna brought with him at least four different cables and Federico is silently praying that at least one of them will work so the evening isn’t ruined.

“Is it a horror movie?” Federico has to ask. He just has to. “Because you know I don’t like them. I’m still scarred from when you made me watch Woman in Black because you said it wasn’t scary.”

“It wasn’t scary! There weren’t any jumpscares or anything!”

“Yes, it was!” Federico shoves at him as he finally finds the right cord and his computer screen is mirrored onto the television. 

At this point, Berna does shift to face him and his expression can only be described as mischief personified. “Don’t worry, I think you’re _really_ going to like this one.”

Federico tugs the sleeves of his hoodie to cover the goosebumps on his arms.

 

 

Berna is right though, a movie about poets and their melodramatic shenanigans is right up his alley. 

They wait for room service to arrive before they press play. Berna uses that time to strip down to his boxers because ‘it feels wrong to sit on expensive sheets with street clothes’.  
After a brief, internal battle as to whether to follow his lead or not, once Berna wheels the food into the room, he finally works up the courage to undress too, flopping onto the bed with him. 

The bowl of pasta is massive, comfortably feeding both of them. It probably seems like a fun, quirky thing to do for Berna to twirl some pasta around his fork and feed it to him but Federico could describe it as something else entirely. He doesn’t though because he’s trying to stop himself from reading too much into things that aren’t what they are. 

By the time they meet William S. Burroughs, they’ve already finished off the plate of pasta. Much to Federico’s sudden disappointment, just as Lucien and Allen are laying on the ground together, Berna pauses the movie and scrambles off the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Berna answers by producing a single blue candle from the folds of his bag and triumphantly presents it to Federico like a little kid with a new toy. 

Of course. Federico feels himself smile as something warm and comforting washes over him. He assumes that’s what being drunk must feel like. 

Berna rejoins him then, their knees knocking together despite the sheer size of the bed. It suddenly occurs to him that he didn’t even realize that Berna booked them a room with only one bed and not two. Maybe that was the only option for rooms as fancy as this one. 

“Make a wish.” Berna sticks the candle into the middle of the tiramisu and lights it with a lights it. 

This is where he gets it wrong - it’s not a trick candle. Federico leans it and blows it out in one try, earning him a kiss on the cheek from Berna and a smearing of whipped cream on the tip of his nose. 

“What’d you wish for?” They’re three spoonfuls in each before Berna speaks up again, a comfortable silence having washed over them while they dug into the decadent dessert. 

Federico scrunches his nose. “I can’t tell you. If I do it won’t come true.” 

“You don’t even have to. It was probably some cheesy shit about wanting Fiorentina to win the Scudetto or the Coppa or something.” For as well as Berna knows him, and believe him, it’s scary how well he does, despite that being very true, he’s entirely off base here. Because Federico figures that at least on his birthday he’s allowed to want something selfish and depraved. 

They unpause the movie after that and Federico purposely looks away from Berna when Lucien and Allen kiss. It’s not that he’s a prude. It’s not even that he’s embarrassed. Or that he hasn’t seen two men kiss before after being in locker rooms full of them from the time he was an infant. It’s just…

While they were eating, they left the lights on. Now, they’re dimmed almost to the point where the only light in the room is coming from Berna’s Macbook and the television. It’s easier to lean against Berna like this, to ignore the fact that his arm is wrapped tightly around Federico’s waist. 

Really, it’s not even when Berna’s fingers meet the delicate skin of his waist that he bothers to react. It takes Berna nosing at his cheek, breath searingly hot on his skin, for that to happen. “Hey.”

No, this isn’t what being drunk feels like. It’s what a front collision car crash feels like. Everything shifts into focus and Federico can’t breathe. “Berna-”

“I didn’t bring you here for this. I swear. But I just...I thought that maybe it was something that you wanted.” Berna sounds shyer and more unsure of himself that Federico has ever heard him sound before. “It’s fine if you don’t. Honestly. I’ll call the front desk and ask them to switch to a room with two beds or if I completely just fucked up then I’ll call you a cab and you can go home and make up some excuse to your mom-” Berna mentioning his _mother_ in this context is the final straw. 

It’s not the most elegant of kisses and in his defense, Federico didn’t actually think this through before acting, he just tilted his head ever so slightly and went for it. The angle is wrong and their teeth clash but there is the audible sound of Berna breathing a sigh of relief against his mouth and that’s all the reassurance he needs not to feel embarrassed and awkward about his first proper kiss. 

 

 

They don’t do anything more than kissing that night. Which is fine with Federico, spending almost the entire night making out with his best friend and falling asleep cuddled up in his arms is the best birthday present he could have asked for. 

Berna even walks him home the morning after, ducking them into an alley close to his house to kiss Federico once more before finally letting him go. 

Okay. Good. So it wasn’t just last night. 

 

 

He enrolls in university right out of high school. 

That’s his life for a solid two years - university, practice, international duty, occasionally going out with friends, and not so occasionally spending the night in Berna’s bed. 

Federico thinks it’s funny that his parents seem entirely unconcerned by the fact that he goes missing for days at a time. He checks in with them, of course, but still. Every time he tells them that he’s heading to Berna’s apartment he expects them to say something about how much time he’s spending with him but the comments never comes. 

At some point he briefly wonders if his father ever did this when he was his age… 

 

 

Eventually, he makes his debut for Fiorentina in the most dramatic and high stakes way possible - starting lineup, opening night of Serie A, in Turin against Juventus. 

Standing in the tunnel just meters away from Italian legends like Buffon and Chiellini makes him simuloustenly so terrified of screwing up that he can’t breathe and so eager to get out there and prove himself. It dawns on him that he never asked his father what he felt like before his first official match. Or what it felt like to dawn the purple Viola shirt for the very first time. 

Rodríguez steps out of line to clasps him on the shoulder and squeezes hard enough to get his attention, doing what a captain is supposed to do but still making it seem sincere. His words are generic but they do provide some semblance of comfort. 

And then there’s Berna. He stands behind Federico, a warm and comforting presence that he will lean into if he’s not careful. As bodies begin to shuffle forward to step out onto the field, Berna reaches out for him, puts his warm hand on his waist and leans in himself. “Stay close. I’m gonna feed you the ball so you can score.” He follows that up with a wink that makes Federico feel just a little bolder. 

Sometimes, it’s difficult to believe that he’s not that little kid anymore, dreaming of playing for this team from the stands above. He is that team. Little kids like he used to be will be looking up to _him_. 

 

 

It’s not the debut of his dreams. 

They fall apart for just a moment late in the first half and end up conceding a wonder goal to Khedira that could have easily been defended. Shockingly, it doesn’t actually make him feel better that it wasn’t his fault. 

When they head back into the tunnel at half time, Sousa pulls him aside before they can step into the locker room. Federico’s heart sinks when Sousa tells him that he wants to sub him out. 

He understands. He isn’t lying when he tells Sousa that with a forced nod. He gets it. They’re one down to Juventus and to salvage at least one point, he will get plenty of playing time in the future. Sousa promises that with such confidence as if it’s supposed to somehow make him feel less like a failure tonight.

 

 

Scoring the match winner against Juventus feels _good_ even though eventually, the goal officially belongs to Badelj. It’s fine. It actually really doesn’t matter because for a good twenty minutes, _he_ was the hero. Three points against the champions is three points and he played a crucial role in that. 

Despite conceding one to Higuain they fight on, they stay strong until the final whistle. 

In the tunnel, Berna is at his side in an instant, adrenaline induced joy flooding through both of them. Berna wraps his arm around him, pulls him in for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Berna’s drunk on glory and it’s deliciously addictive. 

“Can you believe?” His words tickle against his ear. “We did that. We beat the motherfuckin’ champions! _Us_!”

Berna’s optimism is infectious and for tonight, Federico wants to allow himself to relish in this moment and not think about anything else. He wants to shower off the sweat and not so accidentally slip on Berna’s sweatshirt before he has a chance to put it into his duffle bag. 

Berna offers to drive him home. He does that after most matches and practice sessions these days. With his head leaned awkwardly against the window, Federico finally wills himself to ask something that he hasn’t dared to think about much but nights like these make it impossible to stop the creeping thoughts. “Do you think we could get into the Champions League?”

“If we keep playing like that, no one can stop us.” 

Us. 

Federico mouths the word to himself, wrappings his lips around it, tasting it, fogging up the freezing cold window. He likes the sound of ‘us’. Berna said it earlier in the tunnel too. Us. He and Fiorentina. He, Fiorentina, and Berna. 

“Should’ve told my parents I was staying with you.” Federico says and if he were any less tired, he might have noticed Berna tense up a little. 

“I would’ve invited you over but all I’m going to do is crawl into bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.”

“What a coincidence. That’s exactly what I’m going to do too. We could’ve done it together.”

Berna forces a smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time I score a match winner I better get a proper reward.” It’s the adrenaline and the fact that it’s past midnight that makes him bold enough to say that. Bold enough to lean over and kiss Berna hard on the mouth before stepping out of the car and bidding him goodnight. 

He doesn’t want to ask Berna why he won’t fuck him because he’s not sure that he will get an actual answer. But he’s been thinking about it more and more lately. Berna is more than happy to let him sleep in his bed naked. He’s even okay with giving him a handjob in the early hours of the morning but anything beyond that is apparently off limits. 

 

 

They fall apart against Mönchengladbach and they don’t even get a chance at a do over next season, missing out on qualifying for the Europa League by only three points. It’s a little hard to care about his breakout seasons and all the praise that is being heaped on him when for all intents and purposes he failed Fiorentina. 

Berna tells him not to be too hard on himself and for once actually focus on his own achievements and what _he_ accomplished. He seems adamant about it too so Federico doesn’t push. It’s not his intention to make an underhanded comment about personal achievement - he wants Berna to be proud of his performance this season and what he did for Fiorentina. He will be vital for them next season. Together, they’ll motivate and help each other to achieve even more. 

 

 

He doesn’t take the privilege of being selected to represent Italy at the U-21 Euros lightly. It’s an honor to finally play for Italy in an official match and not just friendlies. 

Of course he would have liked to prove himself and score during their group stage matches but at least he plays. Plus, he would much rather focus on the fact that with the help of Berna, they win their final match against Germany and cement their place at the top of their group. 

Federico wants to reward him, wants to make sure Berna remembers this night. But once they’re back inside their hotel room in Kraków, Berna literally sweeps him off his feet, hosting him up and coaxing him into wrapping his legs around his waist while he braces him against the wall. 

Okay. Federico is pretty good with this arrangement too. “We won.” Federico can’t help saying it again as he feels Berna’s hot mouth on his throat. They have an unspoken agreement about marks, nothing that can’t be passed as football battle scars. Still, Berna can’t help himself from sucking a mark just below his collarbone, apparently. 

“Fuck yeah we did.” And when Berna looks up, “Fuck Germany.”

Federico couldn’t agree more. “Fuck Germany.” Berna is already half hard in his shorts, Federico can feel it through the thin fabric. From this angle, it’s almost impossible to gain any leverage and rut against him but he tries anyway. “Hey. Fuck _me_. I’m yours.”

But much to his disappointment, Berna shakes his head. “No. I’ve got something even better.” 

Forgive Federico for doubting him but he’s not sure what could feel better than finally having Berna’s cock inside of him. He must look unconvinced because Berna kisses him then, hard. “Trust me. Please?”

That’s not fair. Of course Federico trusts him. And at this point he is a little curious as to what Berna thinks feels better than getting fucked. Eventually, Federico nods and allows Berna to lay his out on the bed and undress him slowly. 

To his credit, this _does_ feel good. Berna pulling off his shirt before kissing down his chest and arms feels really, really good. When he tugs down the elastic of his shorts and bites at the soft skin above his hip, Federico actually gasps out loud. How is he already hard?

When he’s finally naked, Federico demands that of Berna too. “No. Even if you aren’t going to fuck me I want to see you.” 

“Fine.” After a brief moment of hesitation, Berna obliges. The way Berna takes off his own clothes is nothing like the reverent and careful way that he undressed him and it makes him shiver. 

Berna looms over him in all his glory now, leaning him to kiss him soft and deep, seemingly distracting him for noticing that his arms are suddenly above his head. “Hold on to the headboard.” He sounds just commanding enough that Federico is powerless to do anything other than comply. Not that he wants to disobey anymore. 

And then, Berna moves lower, dropping a final kiss to his tummy before spreading his thighs and putting them over his shoulders. Federico momentarily frowns. This seems like a weird position to blow him from-

“Fuck.” Federico moans lower than he’s ever moaned before, arching off the bed as Berna expertly licks into him. 

Oh. 

Oh god. 

When Federico finally manages to focus enough to look down, Berna could not look more self satisfied and smug. “I told you.” 

“Please.” Berna should be entirely proud of himself for rendering him to such a turned on mess because he doesn’t have it in him to even care about Berna being right and him being wrong. All he cares about right now is Berna doing that again and again and not stopping.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

It’s so filthy. Berna’s tongue is actually _inside_ of him at one point. It doesn’t take long for Federico’s entire body to start shaking and for Berna’s name to be the only word his lips can form anymore. 

When tears form at the corners of his eyes, Berna actually has the audacity to stop. To look at him far softer than necessary and kiss the inside of his thigh while asking him if he’s okay and if he needs a break. 

“Don’t you dare stop.” It’s almost embarrassing how desperate and raw his voice sounds. Then again, it’s not as if he has enough presence of mind to care. 

He has stripped himself down to his most vulnerable form for Berna. That means it’s okay if he’s actually full on sobbing by the time Berna gets him to come untouched. 

It’s fine because Berna is at his side in an instant, gathering his shaking limbs against himself and laughing soft in his ear when he tells him that it was even more intense than he anticipated. 

 

 

Berna takes him out for coffee two weeks after they come home from Poland. Proud of what they achievement but disappointed about coming so close and losing. Apparently, those kinds of results just seem to have Federico’s name written on them. 

It’s a little strange that they didn’t just meet at Berna’s apartment for coffee and are instead meeting at one of the local cafes in the heart of Florence but Federico tries not to dwell on it too much. After not seeing each other for a week, Berna having gone back to Carrara to see his family, Federico is just glad that they’re together again and can enjoy some time quality time before preseason starts. 

Federico finds him sitting on the edge of the fountain, two to-go cups of coffee in hand, looking...tense. It sparks of slew of sirens to go off inside Federico’s head, suddenly wondering if something happened with his family. “Is everything okay?”

When Berna doesn’t look up at him, Federico grows even more worried. “Berna-” 

“Please just sit down.” 

“Okay?” Federico does as he’s told, sipping at the still far too hot coffee. 

“I’m not staying at Fiorentina next season.” 

It’s not fun to feel the whole world come to a grinding halt around you. It’s not fun to feel air get stuck in your throat, choking you from the inside out. Federico’s first thought is that it’s unfair to ply him with fancy coffee and take him out into public for this. His second thought brief and fleeting, wondering for a moment if it would have been better for Berna to ease him into the news, help him dip his toes in the water instead of shoving him into an ice bath face first. 

“What?”

“I’m transferring.”

“Where?” And god, Federico hates that his voice cracks. He has never shied away from showing his emotions, he considers wearing his heart on his sleeve a strength, not a weakness, but right now he wishes nothing more than that we would be capable of a poker face. Fight back, hurt him by pretending not to care, be as direct as Berna is suddenly being.

Berna hesitates, licks the coffee off of his lips after an unnecessarily long sip. “Juventus.” 

Federico doesn’t know what his own face is doing but judging by the defiant expression in Berna’s eyes, he either looks wrecked or two seconds away from punching him. Probably both, if he had to guess. “You can’t be serious.”

“Federico-”

“Why? Because we missed out on Europe by three fucking points?” He couldn’t care less if he’s yelling and putting on full display just how much this is killing him. “Because of _money_?”

Berna doesn’t hesitate then, biting back sharply. “You know it’s not about money.” 

And that’s the thing, Federico does. If his brain wasn’t currently crippled by insecurities and the innate urge to protect Fiorentina, he would understand exactly why Berna agreed to this move and that it’s not actually coming out of the blue - because it’s a good opportunity that will allow him to not only play competitive football in Italy but also in the Champions League. Because currently, that’s not something that they can offer him. 

Federico opens his mouth and then closes it, deciding and redeciding what to say next. Is there even anything left to say? The fact that he’s suddenly more or less given up on fighting must register on his face because Berna looks just a fraction softer.

“Can we just…” He pauses, cautiously reaches out for Federico’s forearm, wrapping warm fingers around him, almost as if scared that he will pull away and run. “I didn’t want you to find out from the papers. I wanted to do this right.”

There’s a right way to betray your friend and a club that’s given everything to you? That’s made you who you are? Federico wants to laugh. Instead, he pulls away and trashes his untouched coffee. “I have to go.”

 

 

Contrary to what it looks like, Federico doesn’t cry himself to sleep that night just because he lost his best friend today. 

He cries himself to sleep because of that _and_ because he’s terrified that the club he has loved since he was a child - the club he has sworn to give everything to - might not be able to give him everything that he wants. 

What if they’ve plateaued? 

 

 

Berna doesn’t ask him to help him pack up his house and Federico doesn’t offer. 

Instead, Federico goes on a month long vacation with his family and swears off anything remotely connected to football safe for tossing the ball around in the backyard with his father and little brother. 

Maybe it’s childish to refuse to take his calls and leave his text messages on read even when they grow more and more desperate and raw. But it would be worse to answer them because what would come out of his mouth would be even more childish. 

_You said us. It was supposed to be Fiorentina and us._

_I thought you loved me. And if not me, I thought you at least loved Fiorentina._

It doesn’t help that he now feels more exposed and vulnerable than ever in his life. He gave himself to Berna, laid himself out for him and told him that he trusted him. That he wants to be his. 

In the early hours of the morning - two thirty seven according to his phone - he wonders if that’s why Berna never properly fucked him. Did he already know he was leaving then? 

 

 

He hears about Giovanni Simeone from his father. 

“Apparently, Fiorentina wants to sign Cholo’s kid.” Because that’s what he called him. Not Giovanni, not even Simeone’s son - Cholo’s kid. 

There’s a strange familiarity to the way he says those words. Federico wonders if they were ever in the same stadium together. In that moment, Federico wishes that he actually bothered to commit at least part of that year spent in Rome to memory because he can barely recall anything. Not even his father playing alongside Diego Simeone. 

What if they already crossed paths? What if they kicked the ball around together after the match was over? He wants to ask. It’s an innocent question, after all, but for some reason, the words lump themselves in his throat and all he eventually manages is a nod and the most generic of statements. 

“He seems talented.” Which is true, Federico remembers him from Fiorentina’s second meeting of the season with Genoa at the end of January. Their first meeting a blur of torrential rain in a stopped and resumed match. The fact that they lost made it easier to forget. 

Giovanni scored just minutes after he had put Fiorentina two up. He had a front row seat to Giovanni’s late penalty before immediately coming off because for some reason, Sousa thought it was a brilliant idea to take him off when they were suddenly drawing three three. 

“I think you two could play well together.” 

“Like you and Simeone?” It’s mostly supposed to be a joke. 

The smile that tugs at his father’s lips is faint, almost amused but mixed with something else. “Better.” 

 

 

It’s surreal to walk by the corner store and see pictures of him, his father, Giovanni, and Simeone on the front page of the paper under the headline _Chiesa and Simeone are destined to be together_.

Actually, it’s not just surreal - it’s downright weird. Federico can’t quite put his finger on why it makes him feel so strange. Perhaps if he leaned into it and didn’t immediately shove it away, he’d realize that it makes him feel uneasy because it’s the journalistic equivalent of placing a heavy weight on their shoulders.

They’re not just the sons of legends as individuals anymore. They’re sons of legends _together_. At the former club of one of those legends. And that narrative is supposed to mean something and manifest into something tangible like goals and points (and trophies and titles). 

Federico doesn’t necessarily hate the idea of being linked to Giovanni before they even actually meet each other as Viola players. If anything, it’s kind of comforting. What makes him feel uneasy are the expectations. 

 

 

The first time they meet during training after Giovanni’s official presentation at the club, he’s beaming at Federico. A wide, goofy smile on his lips as he extends his hand toward Federico. 

“So, you’re Federico,” And for some reason, Federico half expected him to say _So you’re Chiesa’s son_. 

Federico’s never really been shy or awkward, just reserved in his own way, so he shakes Giovanni’s hand and offers him a soft smile of his own, mirroring his introduction. “So, you’re Giovanni.”

That makes him laugh and it sounds...exactly like you would expect it to based on the way he talks. And that’s fine. It’s warm and comforting and Federico looks forward to hearing it again considering how much time they’ll be spending together. 

 

 

He misses the first match of the season against with Inter with a muscle strain. Nothing serious, nothing that should keep him from making his return at home against Sampdoria next week. 

On Serie A’s opening night, he sits on his couch with an ice pack on his thigh and watches Fiorentina fall apart within fifteen minutes. Nevermind that they gift Icardi a brace that will haunt them for the rest of the week if not the test of the season. 

It’s not the worst way to start off the season but that’s not saying much. At this point, it’s tradition to have to start the season against one of the big clubs. This year Inter, last year Juventus, the year prior Milan. Granted, beating Milan two zero was a pretty good way to start off the season. 

Nights like these make him grateful that he bought himself an apartment. Not that he doesn’t still spend half his time at home with his family but it’s nice to be able to have somewhere just his own to go to lick his wounds. When he started looking for a place, he just told his parents that he wanted to feel a little more independent and be closer to the training ground now that he’s officially part of the senior squad. 

(That and because his home away from home used to be Berna’s apartment.)

 

 

It doesn’t take long for Giovanni to score his first goal. Less than two minutes into their away match to Hellas Verona, he finds himself on the scoreboard and Chiesa in his arms. 

Federico doesn’t score but it’s fine. They go three up by half time and at the end, win by five goals. It’s the kind of decisive win they needed after a rocky start to the season. The kind of win that’s dangerous to lean into because it’s ease them into a false sense of comfort but Federico doesn’t care. 

Wins like this always make him believe that this will be the season they turn it all around and achieve something substantial. Lately, his father’s been telling him to be more cautious with his expectations, guard his heart a little more. Federico doesn’t love the fact that he knows he’s speaking from experience. 

Maybe one day he will actually listen.

 

 

Traveling on Christmas isn’t new to him but it always sucks. He had dinner with his family yesterday, waiting until this morning to open presents. It was more for his brother’s sake than anything but Federico still appreciated the gesture. And the soft, cozy sweater than his grandmother knitted for him. 

While waiting to board the train that will take them to Rome, Federico tugs the sleeves of the sweater over his hands and wraps the scarf his mother bought him tighter around his neck. It’s nice to have a little piece of home three hundred kilometers away.

It’s not the first time that he rooms with Giovanni but there is something palpably different about it. They got into their hotel later than usual, the club being gracious enough to allow them to spend Christmas morning with their families, but unfortunately, the price they pay is that it’s already way past sunset by the time they make it to their hotel. 

The plan is for each of them to drop off their bags in their respective hotel rooms and reconveene together for a late dinner. Federico figures that he’ll head back upstairs immediately after and tuck in early but somehow, Milan ropes him into watching Home Alone with a few other teammates. 

Well, it happens because this season he tried out a new thing called don’t put all of our eggs into one basket also known as don’t hang out with just one teammate because they might leave and that’s really embarrassing for you. That’s how he remembered how much time he used to spend with Sottil before you got swept up in hurricane Bernardeschi. The countless drills that they did together in the youth sector, the absurd amount of cones of ice cream that his mother used to buy them after practice because ‘they’re growing boys, they’ll run off the sugar anyway.’ 

And shockingly, it was actually a lot easier and a lot less awkward to incorporate himself into the squad than he had thought. So, that’s exactly what he does - he squishes himself on the couch between Astori and Sottil and laughs at a movie he’s already seen a hundred times. 

Eventually, they have to call it a night despite the movie not being over. Pioli is fast asleep already, no doubt about that, but if he were awake he would have probably told them to go to bed half an hour ago. When he finally makes his way back up to his room, he doesn’t bother with knocking because...why would he? The again, maybe he should have and saved himself from walking in on Giovanni Facetiming his father. 

The fact that Giovanni’s father being current Atletico Madrid manager Diego Simeone has never really fazed him. Chalk it up to a side effect of also having a pretty famous father. So that’s not what he focuses on. Instead, he narrows in on just how casual and strangely vulnerable Giovanni looks sprawled out on his chosen bed, phone held above his face in one hand. 

When he turns to look at him, Federico mouth to him not to hang up, that he’s fine doing his own thing quietly while he finishes up. It’s comforting to go through his routine of changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth while listen to the muffled sounds just beyond the bathroom door. 

“You didn’t have to hang up already.” Federico says once he emerges from the bathroom. “It must suck to not even be in the same country during the holidays.”

“It’s what it is.” Giovanni shrugs but it’s not entirely convincing. “Plus, I’m tired. He’s tired. My mother’s already sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow probably.”

Federico walks over to him, completely ignoring his own still made bed, and toeing off his shoes so he can plop down next to Giovanni. “I feel like I should’ve gotten you something.”

“I didn’t get you anything.” Giovanni snorts, shifting just a little on the bed to make a little more room for Federico. The thing is, this isn’t the first time they have done this. Or the second. It’s been happening pretty much since the time they roomed together in Benevento three days before Federico’s birthday. 

“I know but still.”

Giovanni stares at him for a moment before his expression softens. If Federico had to guess, he’d say that he almost looked amused. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of really intense?”

Federico frowns, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over him. “No. Am I bad intense?”

And then, much to Federico’s surprise, Giovanni turns on his side and cuddles up to him, putting his arm over Federico’s tummy and tucking his face into his neck. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it.”

Oh. 

 

 

In late April, Giovanni scores his first hat trick in style - against Napoli, in a three zero win that puts them in good spirits after consecutive shit show performances against Lazio and Sassuolo. 

The six back to back wins prior made those defeats even harder to swallow and this defiant success even that much sweeter. Especially with Giovanni completing his hat trick at the very last moment. 

Federico feels elated. Spring warmth has finally set it, they’re getting back on the right track, and he wants to help Giovanni celebrate a milestone achievement. So he does the first thing that comes to mind after toweling off his hair - asks him to come over for a celebratory drink. 

First thought, best though, right?

And yes, maybe the thought that followed getting Giovanni comfortable on the loveseat on his balcony with a glass of champagne was to sink down to his knees between his spread legs. It seemed like the natural progression, all things considered. 

“Federico,” Giovanni’s free hand drops down to his cheek, not tugging him up but just getting his attention. “What are you doing?”

Federico rests his cheek on Giovanni’s thigh, looking up at him with devilish determination. “What does it look like I’m doing?” And just for emphasis, Federico unzips his jeans. 

He watches Giovanni throw his head back in the kind of laughter that is synonymous with disbelief. “You’re actually going to blow me out here on your balcony.”

“Well, what did you expect?” After undoing the button, it’s easy to pull open his jeans and mouth at him through his underwear. “You can’t just kiss me in hotel rooms and expect things not to escalate.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

And yet, Giovanni doesn’t say no. He doesn’t push him away. On the contrary, when Federico tugs his briefs down, he twists his fingers into his hair and helps guide him into his mouth. 

 

 

Finishing eighth and three points off a Europa League spot seems like the status quo - a pattern that Federico wants to kill off whichever way possible. 

It’s funny, he used to look forward to international breaks after seasons like this, allowing them to wash away his Fiorentina related problems and help him shift focus onto an entirely different kind of football. 

But Berna managed to ruin this for him too, so at least he can find one possible to not qualifying for the World Cup. 

 

 

Unfortunately, the thing is, he can’t keep avoiding Berna forever. Unfortunately, it seems that they’re both promising Italian stars that will be with the Azzurri for a while. It’s especially difficult when you have to be in close quarters for a solid week. 

Being the stubborn person that he is, he does somehow manage to avoid him for a while but with the Nation’s League forcing them to see each other almost every single month for the rest of the year, it was only a matter of time until they were forced to room together. 

Forced being the accurate term because apparently, Bonucci got so tired of the tension between them that he asked Barella and Caldara to switch roommates so he and Berna would have to share a room. Bold move from the guy that didn’t even tell his best friends he was transferring to a rival club. 

But hey, even though they’re forced to sleep in the same room together, that doesn’t mean that they have to hang out together. Or that Federico has to spend any more time than necessary in that hotel room. 

He takes his time eating dinner and catching up with Barella, joins part of their squad in Lorenzo’s room to watch him get his ass handed to him by Mario in FIFA. It’s only when Lorenzo kicks them out that he finally, unfortunately, ventures back to his own room. Maybe if he’s lucky, Berna will already be asleep and they can have a peaceful rest of the evening. 

The bad news is that no, Berna is not asleep when he comes in. But the good news, however, is that he’s out on the balcony talking on the phone, giving Federico just enough time and privacy so he can gather his toiletries and dash into the bathroom for the longest shower of his existence. 

Maybe it’s cowardly. Maybe he’s still acting childish. But if Berna gets to decide to just up and leave him and Fiorentina then he gets to decide how long he stays mad at him and gives him the cold shoulder. That seems as fair of an arrangement as can come out of a situation as fucked as this one. 

When he eventually leaves the bathroom, he spares one, quick glance at Berna before sliding into his bed and turning on his side to face away from him. 

“Are you just going to ignore me for the rest of your life?” Berna breaks the silence because of course he does. “Because if we both keep playing well, we’re going to have to see each other like this pretty often.”

“I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this.”

And then, after a brief pause, Berna tries a different approach. “I miss you.” 

If anything, that makes Federico even more angry. What right does he have to say that so candidly? It would be so easy to tell him to fuck off, to tell him that he doesn’t miss him, he hasn’t thought about him once since he left. Well, theoretically, it should be easy. Practically though? Federico cannot get those words to come out of his mouth. 

So, in lieu of a response from Federico, Berna continues. “I had this whole plan that you never let me tell you about. There’s a train that goes from Turin to Florence, I wanted to take it every three weeks or so to come see you. In the meantime, we could have Facetimed and called and texted.” Federico hears him pause to take a deep breath. “I heard you got a place of your own. You wouldn’t have had to. I was planning to give you my apartment.” 

Enough. That’s enough. Federico has heard _enough_. He takes one of his pillows and throws it at Berna, barely doing any damage other than startling him. “Stop. Shut up.”

Oddly, Berna doesn’t look angry, he just looks...frustrated. And upset. “Why can’t you understand that I didn’t leave you, I left the club? That’s what kills me most about the way you just cut me out of your life.” And then, he backtracks. “No, actually, what kills me most is that you refuse to see that you deserve more. You’re too fucking talented for what’s become of Fiorentina.”

Federico is too shocked to even speak. He sits up to look at Berna and just stares at him, unwilling to look away, unable to respond. Because Berna really has no right to lay bare his innermost thoughts like that. He’s too tired to fight. So...what if he just gives in for tonight? “I don’t want to leave.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I want to be successful at Fiorentina.”

“I know.” Berna’s voice is soft and surprisingly not patronizing. Oh. Maybe he does understand. 

Federico bites the inside of his cheek, wondering how bad it would be if he went another step farther. But before he can decide, the words spill out of his mouth. “I miss you too.” 

Fuck. Berna looks so genuinely happy when he finally admits it that it makes Federico’s chest ache. 

“I’m just trying to look out for you. Please believe me.”

Federico is sure that if he searched his brain hard enough, he could find the right words and put them together in a proper response. But that’s a lot of work and he’s feeling far too vulnerable to speak. Walking over to Berna’s bed and collapsing down next to him is just so much easier and feels so much better. 

 

 

Somehow, it’s worse than ever before. 

They only claim six wins for the entire first half of their season and suddenly, mid table mediocrity doesn’t sound so bad. It makes Federico sick even just thinking about being excited to finish in a single digit placement on the table. 

When did worrying about not making it into the Europa League turn into worrying about possibly being relegated?

 

 

As 2018 ends and 2019 begins, they put all of their focus into the Coppa.

Torino is a difficult battle with too many close calls for comfort. Their defense unbreakable, Sirigu thwarting them each time they make it into the box. Once the eightieth minute rolls around, Federico is already bracing himself for a long night. Extra time, maybe even penalties if they can’t end it before that. 

But then with three minutes left in regulation time...he scores. He actually makes it past Izzo and Sirigu and puts the ball into the back of the net. And then again five minutes later. He nets a brace and fires them into the quarterfinals. 

He’s their hero again. 

 

 

It’s a goddamn miracle against Roma. So incredible that Federico can hardly believe it. 

This time, he doesn’t wait until the final moments to score a brace - he does it within the first twenty minutes inside their own stadium where a sea of purple shirts scream his name. 

Kolarov’s freekick is a close call but Muriel doesn’t allow Roma much time to hope and breathe. Neither does Giovanni. Federico completes his well deserved hat trick and fifteen minutes later, Giovanni is on the scoreboard with a brace of his own. 

He’s not Fiorentina’s hero - they are. Them. Chiesa and Simeone, destined to be together, destined to bring glory to Florence. 

 

 

Who cares if the blowout score gets to his head? 

What’s the harm in allowing himself to believe that yes, this year, this is the year that they achieve something magical? 

Well, there’s a lot of harm possible, actually, Federico has burned himself many times by being too optimistic but it’s difficult to think rationally with Giovanni leaning over and kissing him at every red light. They’re headed to Federico’s apartment purely because it’s closest. 

Although, it’s debatable if they’ll ever manage to make it inside because as soon as Giovanni parks and they get out of the car, Federico is shoved against the passenger’s side and kisses even harder than before. 

“But I’m the intense one.” Federico teases, earning him a not so gentle bite to his bottom lip. 

“I can’t help it. You were fucking incredible out there.” When he pulls back, Federico finds a wide grin on his face. “ _We_ we’re incredible.” 

We. Us. What terribly dangerous words that Federico should stop leaning into. 

It’s hard to dispute the facts though. Maybe what Fiorentina was waiting for was them. Maybe they are destined for something together. 

 

 

Upstairs, Giovanni pulls their clothes off like it’s do or die and Federico lays himself out on the bed for him. It’s funny, he actually wasn’t expecting this to happen tonight. 

“Can I fuck you?” Giovanni asks. “I really want to fuck you right now.”

Federico wraps his legs around him when he leans down to kiss him. “Yes. Please.”

He contemplates telling him that he’s never actually done this before but decides against it. Does it even matter? It’s not as if he doesn’t know how it works. Or as if he doesn’t have lube and condoms in the top drawer of his nightstand. And what if Giovanni decides not to fuck him just because it’s his first time. But...what better time is there for his first time than when they’re on top of the world like this?

Much to his surprise, Giovanni asks him to turn over. And when he does, Giovanni laughs soft against his shoulder. “No. Um, on your side, if that’s okay.”

Federico is still confused despite nodding but he immediately understand when Giovanni moves to curve over his back and spoon him. Oh. 

“This feels a little more special, no?” It’s difficult for Federico to respond because as soon as Giovanni says that, there are warm, slick fingers between his legs and a hot mouth on his neck. 

“Yes.”

Giovanni is the perfect mix of gentle and rough. Teasing him until he’s a shaking mess and marking him up everywhere that his jersey will cover. When he eventually slides in, agonizingly slow, he buries his face against his neck and tells him how good he feels. 

Federico could say the same if he wasn’t currently biting his pillow. Maybe he should have asked Giovanni to slow down a moment, give him a chance to adjust, but stringing words together is an impossible feat with Giovanni rolling his hips into him like that. 

Fuck. 

Fuck Berna for depriving him of this until now. 

With his arm curved over Federico, pulling him tight against his chest, Giovanni fucks him good and hard while continuing to tell him how amazing he feels, how amazing he is, how amazing they’re going to continue to be. It’s not the sexiest of dirty talk but it’s realistic. 

In the end, Federico is too spent to do anything other than lay there and allow Giovanni to clean them up. There’s something so intimate about the act way Giovanni spreads his legs to wipe him clean that compels Federico to speak. “That was the first time anyone fucked me.”

Giovanni seems to think it’s a joke before he realizes that Federico isn’t kidding. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything?” Federico genuinely feels bad about how suddenly panicked he sounds. 

“Because…” Clumsily, he paws at his face and tugs him down, chastely kisses his lips. “That was perfect.” It’s not exactly an answer to his question or an explanation but he means it wholeheartedly. “Honestly. It was great. It was perfect.” 

Giovanni doesn’t seem entirely convinced but he doesn’t push it any further. After he tosses the pile of tissues into the garbage can across the room, he gathers Federico into his arms again and kisses the back of his shoulder. “You do realize Roma will forever be linked to your first time, right?” 

 

 

When Pioli leaves, Federico thinks that maybe his father was right - he should guard his heart more carefully, curb his expectations so losses don’t feel like being shoved off of a ten story building. 

 

 

Handing the Scudetto to Juventus is gutting. 

It’s the second month in a row without a win and the beginning of the first legitimate whispers that they could very possibly be relegated. 

He hasn’t scored since March and despite being their hero in January, he’s the one dragging them down in the dwindling moments of the season. 

It’s actually almost comical that Gerson nets an own goal less than ten minutes before the match against Parma ends, landing them in the relegation zone. Putting them at the mercy of Inter and Genoa who, of course, are also battling relegation. 

They are their own worst enemy. 

 

 

The thing about dreaming big is that the bigger you dream, the bolder your aspirations are, the more likely it is that you will fail. 

He remembers when he used to dream about living up to Baggio’s legacy. He also remembers how adamant he was about never wanting to save Fiorentina from relegation. Well, at least he fulfilled that part of his dream - he won’t be remembered for saving Fiorentina from relegation. 

But...perhaps that’s fine. Maybe then he can still be remembered for staying. 

In the face of burning shame and disappointment and uncertainty, he thinks that he would still like to be remembered for staying and fighting again for something better next season.

**Author's Note:**

> \- this fic starts off with a bummer! but. yeaaaah. 2001-2002 was a nightmare season for fiorentina not only because they were relegated, but because they had to declare bankruptcy and thus weren’t even allowed into serie b. enrico chiesa ended up rupturing his cruciate ligament in the fifth league game and it was downhill from there. if you want to know just how bad...chiesa was joint top scorer for fiorentina that season...with 6 goals. he ended up being sold to lazio that summer along with virtually most players due to their deep financial problems.  
> \- also, please note that moretti was in that 2001-2002 squad and he played alongside enrico chiesa. that’s it. that’s the most ancient fact about him.  
> \- the academy that chiesa first played at as a kid u.s. settignanese was coached by fiorentina legend kurt hamrin. so really, it’s actually no wonder that this boy ended up loving and breathing fiorentina!  
> \- yes, chiesa is a nerdy boy that enrolled in english lessons AND went to university for 2 years to study sports science  
> \- i shit you not, the w i l d e s t thing that i will NEVER get over is it that [enrico chiesa and diego simeone played together at lazio during the 2002-03 season](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2002%E2%80%9303_S.S._Lazio_season)  
> \- it’s genuinely just. like you cannot make this shit up. [here’s an interview cholito gave where this was said](https://www.calciomercato.com/en/news/revealed-what-diego-simeone-told-son-giovanni-before-move-to-ita-10053) **You and Federico Chiesa are a special couple. Two children of art ended almost suddenly under the limelight.**  
>  "Me and Fede are very good friends, because we share this destiny: to be the sons of two great players ... Well, the real advantage is to have someone trustworthy to ask for advice, and even to enter a locker room for real players when you're a kid. the funny thing is that my father came for the first time to see me play as a professional last August 26, when we won with Chievo.”  
> \- [AND THEN THERE’S ALSO THIS INTERVIEW](https://www.football-italia.net/127982/simeone-shared-destiny-chiesa) _Both Simeone and Fiorentina teammate Federico Chiesa are the sons of star players, so can share a common experience._  
>  “We share the same destiny: we are the sons of great players. The real advantage is not having this name, but rather having someone to ask for genuine advice.  
> “The strange thing is, my father came to watch me in the stands for the first time on August 26 when we beat Chievo. He’d never been in the stands for a match during my professional career before then.”  
> \- also, guess who was managing that lazio team? yup! mancini - mancini has managed both enrico chiesa and now his son  
> i truly genuinely still cannot believe [that this exists that this...happened](https://www.lazionews24.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/CFA41C7F-24E3-4163-8585-B31C871E621E-169x300.jpeg)  
> \- the funny slash sad part about this fic is that i wrote the beginning part about chiesa not wanting to save fiorentina from relegation MONTHS ago back in march, NOT AT ALL PREDICTING THE WAY FIORENTINA’S BACK END OF THE SEASON WOULD GO  
> \- thank you so much for reading and making it this far <3 can find me on [tumblr](http://ikercasiillas.tumblr.com) being sad about serie a


End file.
